


a darker shade of love

by pan_dora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Death, M/M, Major Character Death off screen, Murder, Revenge, Steo, murder boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 01:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20463086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan_dora/pseuds/pan_dora
Summary: Theo shoves her to the side, watches as she collapses to the floor. “She’s not even dead yet.”“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stiles mocks walking away facing him, hands behind his back, smirk on his lips, “was I being insensitive?”With ease, Theo jumps over the pool of blood on the ground and hoists Stiles up into his arms. Laughter falls from his lips when he wraps his legs around Theo's waist, buries his gloved fingers into the short strands of hair. They own the same strength now, but Theo likes to be a show-off; he likes to be in control. Stiles makes him believe he is. From time to time at least. “We could go to the car,” Theo paints the words against his jaw, sucks a bit of skin between his teeth before kissing it better, “waste a bit of time.”





	a darker shade of love

“What happens when this is over?”

Theo snakes his arms around his waist. The cold leather glove is a sharp contrast to his heated skin, to the lips pressing against his shoulder. Familiar. Almost reassuring. Definitively arousing; especially under these circumstances. The soft lips travel to the nape of his neck. A moment later, teeth find his earlobe. “I think you know,” he whispers. His warm breath makes him shudder involuntarily.

Sighing, Stiles leans into the embrace. He’s been craving his touch or the past week, aware that the end might be closing in, aware that the warm body might sleep next to him for the last time. It’s not necessarily love; perhaps they’re far from it, but when Theo kisses him, when he fucks him, when they wake up with their legs tangled in the sheets, it’s close enough. Their relationship is far from normal or what is widely considered right, but Stiles doesn’t mind. Theo gets him. He understands and accepts every piece of him, every thought and feeling and word. That’s so much more than he’s received from those calling themselves his friends.

Lydia always stood behind him, no matter what. He had his dad in his corner as well. But that’s in the past. They both died mere moments after he’s found their cure, mere moments before he knew how to save their lives. His dad’s body couldn’t fight the poison any longer after Stiles finally found Noah. Lydia died from the hole in her head. At least she flattened all of Eichen with her death scream. It didn’t make her death easier on him, but she didn’t die in vain either. It doesn’t make her death any less painful, yet this is the only way he can think about it without breaking down.

“No,” Stiles says turning in the embrace, “when this is over. When we’re done.” Tomorrow. In a week. Two months.

Theo’s lips part for a soundless _ah_ before he grins and pulls him closer by grabbing his ass; a possessive gesture Stiles enjoys so much more than he likes to admit. “A road trip?” Theo’s tone shifts into a gentle question accompanied by a raised brow. “Once you’re eighteen I’ll travel with you wherever you want whenever you want.” He makes it sound as if age is their biggest problem. Maybe it is. Three and a half months and he doesn’t need anybody’s permission to leave the country. They could’ve faked his dad’s signature, but Stiles didn’t have it in him to betray his trust. They left Beacon Hills after his father’s funeral and before child protective services had the chance to lock him down. After everything they’ve done, forging documents is where they draw the line. 

“Anywhere?”

“I’ll take you to the end of the world if you ask me to.”

Stiles’ heart leaps into his throat hammering away in sheer excitement. It’s not over. They’re not over. Cupping his jaw, Stiles draws Theo into a kiss. Lips and teeth and tongue. Hands squeezing his ass. Their bodies as close as possible. Heat paves a way straight to his groin. He could- he _would_ drop everything right now but it’s Theo who pulls away; Theo who rarely acts as the voice of reason.

“You thought I’d leave you?”

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek, looks somewhere that isn’t his face. “Well-“

Smirking, Theo squeezes his ass again. Leaning up, he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth – Stiles is pudding in his hands before Theo remarks, “I won't let you go. I just got you.”

_Just_ meaning three months ago. _Got you_ meaning putting together the pieces remaining after he lost first his dad then Scott and lastly Lydia. Now, Theo is the glue keeping him from shattering all over again.

Stiles can imagine a life on the road. No home. Nothing to get attached to. Everlasting, infinite freedom with only Theo to share it with. But that’s not something to attain with the snap of a finger. “How do we pay for this?”

Theo kisses the tip of his nose. “I’m about to inherit a fortune.” He steps away, and just like that, his features shift into a mask; a cruel grin matching his cold blue eyes. “Isn’t that right, Mom?” Even his tone shifts, a caricature of humanity clinging to every single syllable. He sounds like the monster Scott declared him to be; he sounds like the person Stiles thought he is. But that Theo, that _thing_ only exists when they allow it to come out. Their monsters are a necessary evil they keep under lock and key for most of the time. It is certainly safer that way.

Stiles licks his lips and turns around.

Bloody, helpless, crying. Even her fake eyelashes, manicured everything and shiny blonde hair doesn’t make her look anywhere close to good. Well, she’s certainly still better looking than her husband, though. That asshole didn’t even make it through the fun part. Death by heart attack. After everybody they’ve killed, dear old Mr. Raeken was supposed to be one of the highlights. The last one. One half of the reason why Theo became who he is today. His parents were the one who created this monster. They got the ball rolling. Although not everything is their fault. The Dread Doctors played a huge part as well. They were the ones breaking Theo.

Tears and mascara stream down her face. Her hysterical screams are suffocated by her gag. Not that it mattered. The Raeken’s fancy estate is in the middle of nowhere. It’s like they’re asking to get killed by a random maniac. She could scream her lungs out. Nobody is going to hear her here. They used the gag to prevent headaches. There’s only so much Stiles can handle, and he really doesn’t want to imagine how much it might hurt Theo’s sensitive ears.

Smiling, Stiles walks over to her and caresses her cheek. Her panic is palpable through the leather gloves. His skin tingles at the feeling, at the memory of what they put her through. All this emotional torture she went through as she watched her own son working on her husband with a kitchen knife. Stiles only fuelled her pain with little whispers because that’s what he’s for, that’s what he’s good at.

Theo flicks the knife between his fingers. Although usually, he is a much more hands on person, it’s not necessarily smart to leave fingerprints all over his real parents’ home. The only surviving son who has run away from home _will_ be a suspect. That’s just how it goes. That’s why they slept in Theo’s truck for the past week, got money from an ATM far outside this city. They were careful not to leave a paper trail. Nobody knows they’re here. Nobody knows they’re in town. Nobody living here knows they exist.

It was different with Scott and Deaton, with Gerard and Malia. People in Beacon Hills stopped questioning weird deaths years ago. They could get messy. They could use their hands. Nobody would be looking into it anyway; nobody but Melissa and Malia's father at least. Would Melissa suspect him? Probably not. Would she suspect Theo? Certainly. But there’s no way to proof it, he made sure if that. No matter how disgusted he used to be by what the nogitsune had done, after starting on the path to a new life free of baggage and hatred and regret, after getting rid of those who hold them back, its talents for manipulation come in handy. He can use it for good. Theo taught him how. Theo taught him a lot these past few months.

He wouldn’t be here without him.

Mrs. Raeken screams, struggles more when Theo approaches with the knife pointed at her throat.

Stiles leans over and presses their mouths together, unable to form a coherent thought as Theo kisses him back, wraps an arm around his waist. He feels the cool metal of the knife against through his thick hoodie. He never understood before why being this close to Theo, being this intimate with him feels as intense as it does. But in moments like these, it’s pretty obvious – Stiles broke open underneath him; he offers him chance after chance to tear him apart and yet Theo chooses not to. Over and over again, he lets him live. He protects him, keeps him safe, helped him in more than one way. Not once in his life has Stiles ever felt _this _loved.

How naive of him to think Theo would leave after all of this is over.

“You wanna end it?” Theo nudging the dull edge of the knife against the small of his back.

Stiles smiles against his lips. “You know that’s not really my style.” Death holds nothing for him. Neither does the act of killing. Once they’re dead, he’s left with the task of finding somebody else. It’s just _over_. After bashing Noah’s head in with a pipe, he didn’t feel relieved or better. He was only exhausted. Theo, however, gets a kick out of killing. So, they made a deal. Stiles can play with their victims first. That’s what he wants, what he’s good at, what he craves. It’s especially satisfying when the blade sinks in. The initial surge of pain. _That’s_ what’s best.

Scott tasted delicious. The trauma of the nogitsune burying Kira’s katana inside his stomach added to the horror that this time it _is_ Stiles was a treat he’ll never find again. Neither Malia nor Deaton were remotely as satisfying. Although the moment she realised the electricity prevents her from healing was better than excepted. Deaton tried to keep it together until the very end. Such an unnecessary attempt. He broke like all the others. Gerard died easily too weak from the rejected bite to survive much. Deucalion was a challenge and for a while Stiles thought that maybe they bit off more than they could chew. But in the end, the blade buried into his skin like it was supposed to. Deucalion was the only one on the list Stiles killed. He made it slow. He made him feel as human and worthless as possible when he cut his throat and sat down next to him, waiting for it to be over, watching him die.

Theo stood next to the door that day, quirking his brows when Stiles got to his feet with his smug smirk and blue eyes and tousled hair. Killing Deucalion changed something in Stiles. Like he payed back a debt. Like murdering the one who tore his first pack apart finally set him free. He remembers walking over to Theo, remembers shoving him against the wall, remembers kissing him, the tang of blood in his mouth. It’s the day they started whatever kind of relationship they have.

It was the day everything changed.

Stiles steps around Mrs. Raeken’s chair, fists her hair and yanks her head further back. She stares at him, wide-eyed, pleadingly, probably begging for her life. Petting her cheek, he looks back up at Theo who pushes the knife in his mother’s hand, forces her to hold on tight before leading it to her throat. He’s nothing if not precise with his actions. Unless it comes to their relationship, he’s planning everything methodically. Stiles lets him, only adds and changes little things to keep Theo from shooting himself in the foot. It's good to reach for the stars, but Theo needs safety nets or he’s going to lose his temper and create unnecessary obstacles.

Deeply concentrated, Theo moves her hand and the knife a few times oblivious to his mother’s pleas. If Stiles isn’t completely mistaken, he picked up the word _letter_ in her muffled babbling. She probably believes the letter is anything but a prop, that Theo _meant _every word written down; how he misses them, how they should start over, they should call him, he promises to pick up, how sorry he is that he couldn’t save his sister. She didn’t seem to have noticed that the date on the letter was from two years ago. It’s a simple story. She found the letter in her husband’s office, lost her mind over the secret and killed him. Not capable of living with the guilt, she ended her life immediately after leaving behind a son who wanted nothing more than to reconcile with his parents.

Such a tragic story. 

“Mother?”

The hysterical mutterings stop. Eyes widen in what seems to be hope. Poor thing. Everything that happened tonight, that will happen in the next minute is her own fucking fault. She planted the seed, now she has to reap what she sowed.

Theo presses the knife against her throat, this time for real. “Don’t say hello to them for me.” Stepping behind her, he opens her throat with a single, swift movement. It’s messy and a lot of blood. They knew that. Stiles _knew_ that, and yet- the first moment is always so extreme. Although he is hardly bothered by the amount blood in itself, the concept of it _irks_ him. It’s messy. It’s dirty. It’s death. It’s wasted. His time here is over. The rest is boring clean-up and manipulating the scene.

With a curl of his lips, Stiles lets go of her hair. “If you inherit this place,” he says scrutinising the blood seeping into the white carpet, “you’re gonna sell, right?”

Theo shoves her to the side, watches as she collapses to the floor with her chair. “She’s not even dead yet.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stiles mocks walking away facing him, hands behind his back, smirk on his lips, “was I being insensitive?”

With ease, Theo jumps over the pool of blood on the ground and hoists Stiles up into his arms. Laughter falls from his lips when he wraps his legs around his waist, buries his gloved fingers into the short strands of hair. They own the same strength now, but Theo likes to be a show-off; he likes to be in control. Stiles makes him believe he is. From time to time at least. “We could go to the car,” Theo paints the words against his jaw, sucks a bit of skin between his teeth before kissing it better, “waste a bit of time.”

Stiles pecks the tip of his nose. “We’re not done here.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Theo says dropping him to the ground and crowds him against the wall, “no one’s coming here. No one’s calling until my father doesn’t show up at work seeing that’s the only thing, he was good at.” His tone dances around every syllable. His eyes twinkle. Nothing indicates that Mr. Raeken’s corpse lies mere feet from them or that his mother was choking on her own blood. There’s something strangely satisfying about knowing that the last thing she will see is her son having fun with the kid she used to look down upon.

Stiles smirks.

Theo grabs him by the collar of his shirt and yanks him around. Grinning. Laughing. His eyes shine with the kind of mad excitement that drew Stiles in from the very beginning. They kiss and grope at each other, laugh and moan, as they make their way out of the house. It’s the perfect kind of messy. The kind of chaotic and addicting that he doesn’t want to miss; that he craves right now.

“So, greedy,” Theo whispers locking the door and ignoring Stiles’ impatient whine, ignoring how Stiles presses against him, kisses his neck. He wouldn’t mind if Theo slammed him against the door and they fucked right here, right now – with blood on their clothes and their serial killer attire. That would make it even hotter.

But Theo doesn’t. He throws him over his shoulder and carries him back to the truck. The night is cold here near the border to Canada, yet Stiles couldn’t feel warmer. Theo makes him melt from the inside out when he kisses and touches him like he wants to make up for every single of the twenty-one stabs and slices Stiles had to witness, like he wants to make sure Stiles knows he will never be on the other end of a blade or his claws, like he wants to make sure Stiles isn’t afraid of the darkness inside of him.

A darkness singing to his own.

A darkness Stiles isn’t sure he wants to lock away. It makes their lives so much easier.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me over on [tumblr](https://msmischief101.tumblr.com/) or the [steo discord server](https://discord.gg/P2GBy4).


End file.
